Literary Interpretations
by Joon
Summary: Mindless fluff. Some book browsing and talking is involved.


Well, I had to take a small break from writing "Earthly Possessions".   
This is a short fluff fic. And I do mean fluff. Nothing happens in   
this story. Literally nothing. I reverted back to my non-plot days   
again it seems. So, here it is.  
  
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Title: Literary Interpretations  
Timeline: Post-Good Omens  
Disclaimer: I don't own Aziraphale or Crowley. PTerry and Gneil do.   
They are lucky men in just so many ways.   
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"This is just sad," commented Crowley as he observed a wandering figure. "I know they're my invention but the fact that people actually buy these self-help books..."

Choosing a deceptively handsome hardbound book from the shelf, Aziraphale missed the comment. "Sorry?" A rather un-angelic grimace appeared on the blond man's face as he flipped through the hardback book. "Just as I thought. Poor binding, poor paper quality, hardly any attention given to the feel of the words as to manifest it into the outer cover, a rather sensationalistic cover design as well I might add. On the whole unattractive."

"Oh, for Hell's sake, angel. Are you going to read the book or make love to it?" demanded the demon. 

"It's an insult to the author that *this*," Aziraphale waved the offensive book under Crowley's nose. "Is how his work is displayed!"

"The man made a career out of putting together all the different words that rhymed with 'cat'. What do you expect? Leather binding and gold copperplate letters?" Snatching the book from the angel's fingers, Crowley threw it over his shoulder, just missing a child that he had been aiming at. "There. Gone. Are you satisfied?"

"Sorry," Aziraphale apologized over Crowley's shoulder to the boy's nanny who gave the two men a particularly odious look. 

Crowley had called upon his counterpart that day for a quick lunch and had found the angel in a low mood at having to sell one of his precious books. Knowing that it was futile to fight against it when Aziraphale got into one of those moments, the demon had allowed himself to be dragged to various chain bookshops to peruse the supplies. Aziraphale got quite a pick up from having an audience to hear him as he lectured on the poor quality of book binding in the modern world. 

"Look, can we get on?" asked the demon, rising from the kiddie chair he had been occupying. "The children's section makes me uncomfortable."

Aziraphale smiled at that. "What? A demon like you afraid of children?"

"I'm not *afraid* of children. They just...weird me out. They scream, kick, get unbelievably sticky and spontaneously leak all about the place and still convince adults that it's adorable. Not even I'm *that* good at warping people's minds."

"Children can be quite lovely, you know," stated Aziraphale, gathering the books he had previously chosen into his arms. 

"Have you so soon forgotten that birthday party we had to go to?" asked Crowley, looking at the angel over his shades. 

"Well..er...no. But they are quite nice when they're babies."

"Oh, yes? When the probability for spontaneous leakage is at its peak?" 

"I've actually been meaning to visit Anathema and see their new baby," replied Aziraphale, getting a slightly wistful happy look on his face. "We should go sometime."

"We? I don't think so," snorted Crowley, as they walked down towards the fiction/literature section. "I've only held a baby once in my life and that was the Anti-Christ. Not about to repeat the experience again, thanks." 

"But you haven't held a normal baby before. You might quite like the experience. We should go."

"What are we, a married couple going on holiday to visit other married couples?" asked Crowley. "Well, I suppose if we were, you'd definitely be the woman."

"Why would I be the woman?" demanded the angel. He didn't have a particular animosity towards women in the least but was more put off by the way Crowley said it.

"Oh, how can I put this?" wondered Crowley, waving a hand in the air. "It's like...what's meant to be. The sky is blue, the grass is green and if we were a married couple you'd totally be the woman. You'll fuss over the kids and cook meals while I drink too much alcohol and watch Monday night soccer on the telly."

"I won't even mention in how many ways you insulted the sexes just now."

"Please do, might make my day." 

"I still don't see why I would be-"

"Look, we'll have this conversation again later when we've had a few drinks. It'll make much more sense then," promised Crowley. Scanning the shelves, the demon pulled out a few books and studied the back covers. 

"Ever read this?" he asked, holding up one of his choices. 

Peering at the cover, Aziraphale nodded. "Oh, yes. Very talented man. He had a terrible problem with opium, though. And look at this," he suddenly switched, taking the book from the demon. "It's one of those mass market publishing bindings." Shaking his head, he gave the book back to Crowley. "It's a disgrace."

"I never can understand why you're so anal about this. Well, more anal about this than most other things, that is."

"Books are not to be just *read*, Crowley," began the angel.

"Well, then maybe people should stop putting words in them."

"No, I mean that it's a whole process, reading a book. You appreciate the cover, the feel and sound of the pages as you turn them, if they're strong enough for your fingers to touch them, of course. And there's the wonderful smell of just the perfectly bound work," praised Aziraphale, his eyes gleaming with that certain shining rapture. 

Scrutinizing the book he currently held in his hand, Crowley took an experimental sniff of its corner. "Doesn't smell so bad, this one."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. I've seen the way you treat your books. Bending them all about. It's a travesty," said Aziraphale, glumly. 

"You mean like this?" asked Crowley. Smiling like a snake, the demon bent the book in his hands so the spine audibly cracked. 

"Crowley!" exclaimed the angel, dismayed. 

"What? You said this book was a disgrace, anyway."

"That's not the point!" 

"Oh, fine," said Crowley, rolling his eyes. He tossed the book to Aziraphale who nearly dropped the other books in his arms to catch it. "Praise it be! Lord, heal this book," Crowley professed, rather loudly with an affected Southern twang. 

Coughing apologetically to the people staring at them while simultaneously giving Crowley a look, Aziraphale placed the book back on the shelf, its spine now seamless again. "I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

"But you have to, angel," grinned the demon as they proceeded for the check out line. " 'Cause I'm the only one who'll listen to you waxing poetics about books."

"Well, listen is a relative term."

"What? I do," insisted Crowley. "Feels, smells, binding, blah, blah. It all channels in one way or another."

"Are you trying to make me feel better, Crowley?"

"Dammit, I seem to be. Nasty habit, that," replied the demon, distractedly as he studied another book he picked up. It looked interesting enough. It was a book concerning the Black Plague and Crowley was always curious just how far off the mark historians got on such things. There was some smug glee to be gained from knowing a person spent his entire life puttering away at studying one subject in history, only to get it so wrong. 

Standing off to the side while Aziraphale actually paid for his books, Crowley was interrupted in his initial reading by someone tugging at his pant leg. Looking down, Crowley saw a small boy with miscellaneous stains liberally spread about his face and hands staring back up at him with very suspicious eyes. "You tried to hit me," the boy accused. 

"No, I didn't," lied Crowley.

"You did so! You threw the bloody book at me!" 

"Should you be swearing at your age?" inquired the demon, a bit surprised. Before the boy even made up his mind to do so, Crowley already saw that the child was going to go for his shins. With a smug smile, he started to form a pleasing counter attack....

"Right, okay, let's go," said Aziraphale, interrupting the demon's planning. Grasping Crowley's arm, he dragged him off before the boy could make his move, thus giving Crowley an excuse to exercise his plan. "Really, my dear. He's just a child," scolded the angel.

"Just?! He's fit for *my* job, the little bleeder! He's got a nasty imagination, that one," protested Crowley as Aziraphale kept his grip on the demon's arm and led him towards the Bentley outside.

"Let's just go have lunch now. How does that nice Japanese place we went to last week sound?" 

"Fair enough. The Bentley can drive us while I read a bit," said Crowley as he pulled out the book he had managed to hold on to as Aziraphale had dragged him out. Climbing into the car, the demon casually paid no mind to the angel's dismayed look as he bent his book nearly in half at the spine and began reading. 

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As always, FEEDBACK would be lovely, lovely.


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